


7 Rings

by aporia



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Death, Creepy, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Horror, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Psychological Trauma, This is a love story, but cute?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aporia/pseuds/aporia
Summary: The way he behaves around that monster. The way he seems to care about him. The way he catches his eye in a sick and twisted way. He couldn’t possibly digest it. I must save him, no matter it takes.AU in which Pairo lives under Tserriednich’s care. Kurapika reunites with him and means to save his friend from this ordeal, but circumstances can change everything.





	7 Rings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [singie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singie/gifts).



> Boys only want love if it's torture  
> Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn ya
> 
> Taylor Swift 
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, this is a creepy cute fanfic with pop music references. You aren't reading wrong.

Tserriednich couldn’t count the hours to go aboard the Black Whale.

He was only one night away from his destined purpose in life, from the beginning of the path to his rightful place as King. In his book, tonight marked his last night as a Prince, meaning that this was the last chance to indulge in his usual frivolities. What was one mere night of permissiveness when he had a long callous assignment ahead of him?

Considering it critically, it was highly unlikely that the battle against his siblings would start as soon as the ship set sail, so he would keep the calm facade for a little longer. Surely only the weak and guileless would rush into action right off the bat, which was good for him. He would reap the weak right away. He had no time to deal with the simple minded.

Patience was a virtue and he usually had plenty of it, excuse his little ceremonial anxiety pre-boarding. Venturing into the unknown was a common topic on coming of age, so this was justified. He was about to begin his metamorphosis into the next Kakin King, and was confident on the triumph of his plan to conquer the crown.

“Being alone today is a downer,” he blurted out to himself as he stepped out of his long bath. He treated himself to a glass of Romaée-Conti, wishing he had a pleasant company of a certain someone, but it wouldn’t be possible.

His only escort for tonight was a beautiful corpse that he himself had strangled before his bath. A pool of blood encircled the long chaise where the body was propped up on, filling the luxurious salon with the heavy metallic scent of blood, a personal favourite.

As always, he could have killed her in a much cleaner way, but where was the fun if there was no struggle? That had been the peak of this insignificant girl’s existence, having her throat slit open and slowly choking to death as she looked into his face. He stepped barefoot on the blood, contemplating her pale complexion, satisfied with his own slaying technique which kept her expression of despair intact.

Tserriednich wanted her body to remain unblemished. He wouldn’t have time to embalm her himself, so he made sure to carve her in the right manner for his trusted craftsmen to preserve his oeuvre as intended.

He watched the girl’s face for a few minutes, allowing the stress of the following succession war to flow away from him, just like the blood dripping out of her body. It was therapeutic. He delighted himself in the sight of the corpse, considering the ways he could chisel it. What technique should he use? Should he quarter it? Leave the bust? Cut off the jaw so it would behold an artistic value, like a character from Guernica? Tserriednich hoped to recreate the painting with real bodies, so hopefully this young lady would have a greater part to play in the afterlife. She would brighten up, starring in his handmade diorama.

Tserriednich left his wine goblet for a moment and reached for the knife drawer on the crystal cabinet. He was absorbed in his own thoughts when he heard a loud smash at the door.

Turning his head, he found an armed man aiming his gun at him. The intruder seemed deeply shaken by the exhibit displayed as centerpiece.

“I knew it, I knew it,” the man said with disturbed teary eyes. “When I said our Prince was a killer, they laughed at me. But I knew! You were the last person they ever saw with her…”

With a quick glance, Tserriednich could tell this man was no killer. Only one more inconvenience in his far from perfect night. With a deep sigh, he reached for his wine again.

“Your point, please?” Tserriednich said in annoyance. 

“Shut up! She was dismembered. The forensics said she died in suffering. You are a monster.”

“Am I? Oh dear!” Tserriednich chuckled, trying to find some humor in the situation. A pestering bystander wouldn’t ruin his last night off before his journey to coronation. Let this fool call him a wondrous beast all he wants, he was in his best mood. 

“I’m gonna make you pay for what you did to her,” the intruder said, still shaken but seeming resolute. “I’ve been planning this for months, investigating by myself when everyone else doubted me. I’ll kill you and show Kakin what you’ve done and….”

The invader suddenly went quiet and all color vanished from his face. His eyes widened in terror, but he stopped shaking. Automatically, Tse smiled and looked at the door.

A red-eyed brown-haired young man in a tuxedo, probably in his late teens, stood on what was left to the exploded door. He calmly entered the chamber, and Tserriednich hurried to his side.

“I thought I’d only see you on the ship.”

“And I thought you would be resting,” the young one rebutted. Tserriednich laughed softly and held his hand. The boy ignored him, seeming concentrated into something else.

Seconds later, the invader shot himself in the head.

“This is my last night,” the Prince said. “Our last night. There’s no need to be so serious. I’m happy that you’re with me.”

“I need to secure you a new location and finish our preparations.”

“We’ve been planning this moment for years. One night of planning won’t make any difference. Please, stay with me, Pairo,” he asked, placing his hand on the boy’s neck and caressing it softly. Tse moved over, deliberately standing in front of him to draw his attention.

Gradually, the boy's eyes faded from bright red to a light maroon. He focused on the face in front of him and grinned softly, acquiescing to the Prince’s pleas and reaching for his lips, to embrace Tserriednich into a kiss.

 

————— years before ————

 

 

Pairo’s memory of the massacre of his village was a blur of red and black, engulfed by deafening screams.

His eyesight was poor, and he knew that his eyes couldn’t shine as brightly as the others. He was defective, a cripple, and he knew that twisted privilege was probably the reason why he was still alive.

He remembers his capture and sale at a dark auction.

Ever since then, he had been given his own room, had been well fed and dressed comfortably and, for all he was constantly monitored, he still retained some control over his personal space.

In those stressful few weeks, his ever decaying eyesight worsened even more rapidly. Multiple people came to his room many times a day, he could hear them taking notes, whispering to each other and sometimes trying to interact with him. Was he some sort of sick experiment? He sincerely didn’t care much anymore.

Living with the guilt that he was useless made him rage inside. How could he possibly face Kurapika again and tell him that he couldn’t do anything but become a pathetic merchandise on the black market? He hated to be the useless one, always in need of protection. But here he was, in a golden cage provided by his captor.

Every day, a woman came to his room and read to him. They were all fantasy stories, fairy tales, some of which he already knew, but Pairo listened quietly. The Kurta refrained from speaking during those days, since it was their overflowing emotions that had been the demise of his brethren.

Until one day, he felt something different. He had learned to rely on his hearing and intuition, and he could tell this time there was the presence of another man in the room. This time, the story reader wasn’t by herself. Whoever it was, he sat far away from him and left as soon as the story was finished.

This pattern repeated itself for a few days. The man came in, observed him, and left quietly. That made him think that this was the person who had bought him. He could feel by the steadiness of his footsteps, his breath, and the strange but imposing aura.

So one day, Pairo decided to take a wild chance.

“Why bother to buy something, if you won’t interact with it?” Pairo asked, in a composed tone. He could hear his own heart skip a beat in anticipation.

“How did you know it was me?” 

So his captor had a voice.

He waved his hand in front of Pairo in a silly motion, to make sure he was indeed blind. Pairo could hear him doing it.

The confirmation that this man was really his buyer made him feel a bit lighter. At least he finally knew who he was dealing with.

“Would knowing that make a difference to you?” Pairo asked, eyes still fixed nowhere, deciding for his own safety not to answer him exactly for now. “You come here every day. I can feel it.”

“Feel it.”

Tserriednich didn’t have any idea what that was supposed to mean, but he wasn’t sceptical. He had paid a great sum for this boy, a Kurta, heir of whatever secrets and powers the clan may possess.

“I hope my presence doesn’t bother you.” His captor answered politely, and oddly, Pairo felt that he meant it.

Pairo knew he should speak pleasantries and divert from the fact that he was obviously angry. He wanted to make his way off captivity someday, but at the same time, he knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. His eyes were worsening with the trauma and a blind boy would need to use all his wits to survive.

“Why would you bother me? You took me away from the ones that killed my people. That’s supposed to make me feel momentarily better.” The boy stood up and took a few wayward steps, trying to locate the book that was being read to him earlier. “But at the same time, you’re the one that made this commerce happen in the first place. So Kurta blood is on your hands. Personally, I don’t mind you, I’m more bothered with myself. I can’t fend for my people, I can’t even die like them.” Pairo decided to open up. His new owner wasn’t what bothered him the most, but his own inability to prevent it from happening. Confiding it to his captor was comforting, in a strange way.

Pairo finally found the book. The man went quiet for a long minute, then unexpectedly asked. "Did you like the story? This was my favourite when I was your age."

Pairo found his way back to Tserriednich and stood in front of him, unafraid to come close. He placed the book on Tserriednich’s lap, and did his best to see what he still could of the man’s face.

“I want you to read to me from now on. You must at least take this responsibility. Look in the eyes of the one whose life you destroyed.” Pairo said in a harsh, but still calm tone. “I think I’m a little too old for fairytales. My favourite book is Journey To The West. That is the one that taught me the Common language,” he confided.

His captor went silent, then acquiesced.

“Very well. I won’t waste your time with these, then.” He put the fairy tale book aside. “Starting from tomorrow, I will personally bring you stories that cater to your tastes. How old are you?”

Pairo was satisfied. At least his captor seemed to have a positive shift in attitude in response to him. He could be an exotic harmless crippled boy, but at least he could influence Tserriednich enough to appeal to his own tastes.

“I’m twelve. I’m turning thirteen in the summer, not that this is an important matter anymore,” the boy said. “There is no need to hold back, I’m sure I’ll catch up with whatever you decide to bring.”

“Then I will expect you to.” His captor said in a laid back tone. “Do you have a genre of preference?”

“I'll let you decide. I like to read everything. Or at least I used to, when I could see enough to read,” Pairo said with a slightly dark humour. “I’m Pairo. What should I call you? Master?”

The man chuckled and said humorously, “Master is a bit over the top, don’t you think? Tserriednich is just fine.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m always up on @antynomia on twitter. Hit me whenever you want!
> 
> Thanks again for reading. See you (?) next chapter! I hope you enjoy the ride. ✧◝( ◠‿◠ )◜✧˖°


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